Somewhere Beyond the Sea
by Cynthia Arrow
Summary: Sayid contemplates just who Shannon is, which makes him think about another woman beyond the sea. Just a hint of SayidShannon. Sawyer also puts in an appearance to be his usual snarky self. (one-shot fic)


Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off this and, as much as I might wish it, these characters are not mine.

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Note: I'm pretty sure it's kosher to embellish the backstory, but I'll warn you anyway. I'm going on what I remember about Sayid's episode and the new creation of my brain. I'm also going on my memory that the song Shannon sang at the end of a recent episode—the French woman's repeated song—was Bobby Darin's "Beyond the Sea."

Somewhere Beyond the Sea

Sayid didn't particularly want to talk to Shannon. It actually had little to do with her and everything to do with her bodyguard, the new Locke disciple. Sometimes, he talked to her anyway, because he wanted to and because he found it ridiculous to have to plan an afternoon based on where she had taken up sunbathing.

Of course, many times he did just that, circumnavigating the beach, cutting through the jungle so as not to cross her path. Not that it mattered. Even if he walked within feet of her, unless he stood in her sun, she wouldn't notice. He knew that it wasn't that she was oblivious to the world around her—to what people said about her and to how they treated her—it was that she made a point of not caring. That meant, sometimes, for all intents and purposes, she really didn't see or hear some things. It was easier that way.

Sayid counted on her obliviousness as he walked down the shoreline past where she lay in her bikini. She was so infrequently in clothes that he found that image of her strangely more appealing than the one that he was trying not to look at as he passed. He was well past her, focusing on the signal fire where he was headed, when she called out to him.

"Hey, Sayid."

Turning slowly, he began to walk back toward her. She was propped up on her elbows, squinting into the light.

"Hello, Shannon."

"Have you made any progress on the French woman's map?"

"No."

"Oh well. She's apparently a loon anyway. Maybe the map is useless."

"I don't believe that anything is completely useless."

"Well, you'd have to have her fucked up mind to understand any of it."

"What I need is a person that can understand a fucked up mind and French."

As his face betrayed no emotion, she smiled quizzically at him, pulling a stray hair out of her face. She stared at him unabashedly, and he was more than a little unnerved. Why a woman so young would make him nervous, he hadn't the slightest idea. But there was something about her that was bold and completely unaware of the fact that anyone might find her behavior odd. The freedom of the rich, he said to himself.

When he couldn't bear the silence any longer, he said, "I'm going to add wood to the fire. You could help me, if you'd like."

"No thanks."

At that, he headed toward the fire again, only to have her call out again. "Hey, Sayid."

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking about the song…you know, the one the French woman kept writing over and over. She got one of the words wrong."

"Oh?"

"Actually, that's what I thought at first, but now I think maybe she did it on purpose. The line in English, 'my lover stands on golden sands'…well, she doesn't use the word lover, which would be 'amor' or something like that. She says 'frere.' Brother. I was thinking in English, and since they rhyme in English, the mistake made sense."

"But 'lover' and 'brother' are nothing alike in French."

"Exactly." She paused, staring intently at him, then through him, as if she were lost in thought. Finally, she shook her head dismissively. "Anyway, I know it doesn't make any difference to what you're doing, but I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you, Shannon."

Long after he turned and began walking toward the fire, he could still see her face in his mind, that look that was completely indefinable. What did it mean? He returned as always to the same question: was Shannon just a self-absorbed brat? He didn't think so, but he knew that he saw potential depth there because he wanted to, whether it was likely or not.

When he reached the fire, he saw that Sawyer sat in front of it, gazing out over the ocean.

Sayid said, "I see you decided to be useful."

"My usefulness kept this damn thing going while you went on your jungle adventure."

"I have not forgotten."

"Were you lecturing your pretty little blond thing about her laziness?"

"Does your mind stay perpetually in the gutter, Sawyer? Do you want to believe everyone has the same intents you do?"

"You can want Shannon without me believing it, and with me believing she'll have anything to do with you."

"She's a child."

"She don't look like a child to me. No sir, not in the least bit."

"I'm so glad I don't have to justify anything to you."

"It's her pretty boy watchdog you have to watch out for. Make him mad enough, he might accidentally hurt you while he's trying to kick your ass."

"I am not afraid of Boone."

"I'd be more afraid of the girl, myself."

"Your concern is fascinating, Sawyer. How is your quest going…the one to keep Kate from being nauseated in your presence?"

"Well, I sure ain't wooing her with French."

Sayid laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, my evil plan to attract a twenty year old girl with cartography."

"Call it what you want. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Sawyer wandered off with his pack, back toward his camp and his stash of stuff. Sayid sighed, smiling to be free of dealing with these strange people he had been marooned with. Free for a time, anyway. He sat down a few feet from where Sawyer had been sitting, but he couldn't bear any more staring out to at the sea. That damn song had echoed in his head for a long time after Shannon translated it, but he had finally gotten it out. Until she'd brought it up again. Someone was waiting beyond the sea, although he had been waiting for her a long time before the plane crash. And he would continue to wait, no matter where he was.

Out of habit, he pulled a necklace out of his pocket, the pendant a small, flat circle of gold. On the front was etched a flower, and he touched it gingerly, as always a little scared that his constant rubbing would wear it away. Besides the picture, it was all he had left of her. He'd taken it from her personal belongings, meaning to give it back to her, but in the rush he had forgotten. He didn't even know who had given it to her. A lover? A brother?

He heard footsteps, and Shannon was suddenly between him and the water.

"She's kind of sad," she said.

"Who?"

"The French woman. She didn't have anybody but a brother to miss her."

"And a child."

"Yeah. What's that?"

His instinct was to pocket the necklace, but he didn't. "It belonged to someone I knew. It's what I remember her by."

To her credit, she didn't ask questions, for which he was grateful. He decided that she was too stuck inside her own head to be concerned with or even notice anyone else's sorrow. Or maybe she understood.

She said, "Can I see it?" He dropped it into her hand, and she looked at it for a long time. "What does it say?"

"Huh?"

"The inscription. It's…I don't know, Arabic?"

He told her how to pronounce it, and she repeated the word almost flawlessly the first time.

"What does it mean?"

"It's just her name."

"It's pretty. I mean, it's simple, but it's nice." She held it toward him, the chain neatly balanced across a crease in her finger.

"I don't know why I hold onto it anymore. That's what I was just thinking," he said, but it was a lie. He hadn't thought it until he said it. Now that he had, he believed it. Why did he still hold on? Did the guilt really mean so much to him?

"Don't you think you'll see her again?"

"No. No, I don't." He grasped the pendant as it continued to balance on her finger. It nearly glowed in the sun. Suddenly, he released it, watching the light bounce off of it and onto Shannon's face as it swung back and forth. "Please, take it off my hands."

"What?"

"You should have it. If I continue carrying it around, it will only continue to make me sad."

"Sayid, I can't take this."

"Please. For your help."

Her face was in a protective sneer, protecting a little embarrassment perhaps. "I haven't done much."

"You've done enough. But, if you wish, we'll call it a down payment on future help. I might need a translator again."

"You realize I understand a fucked up mind a lot better than I understand French."

"I know," he said, smiling.

She undid the clasp and slipped it around her neck, and he suddenly realized another part of her motivation.

He said, "It also has the added bonus of making your brother insane."

"Doesn't take much." She grinned and ambled back toward her sunbathing post, and he watched her very obviously, deciding that if she could be bold, so could he.

That's what the pendant said anyway. That was the literal translation of her name: bold.

He expected to be angry with himself, but instead he felt immense relief.


End file.
